Brock was alone. He finished the tankard, and another, and another. Liza opened the door but he did not notice her and she left him to his drinking, and she went to bed and prayed for the happiness of the marriage. And for her man.
Gorth went ashore. To Mrs. Fortheringill’s house.
“I’m not wanting your business, Mr. Brock,’” she said. “The last one were hurt brutal.”
“Wot’s a monkey to you, you old witch? Here!” Gorth slammed twenty gold sovereigns on the table. “An’ here’s the same to keep yor trap shut.”
She gave him a young Hakka girl and a cellar far to the back of the house.
Gorth abused the girl, flogged her brutally, and left her dying.
The next day he set out in the
White Witch for Macao, forty miles southwest. All the Brocks were aboard except Brock himself. Culum also stood on the quarterdeck, his arm linked with Tess’s.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Five days later was race day.
And during this time the foundations of the new town had been laid. Following the lead of The Noble House, the traders had harnessed all the labor and skills of Tai Ping Shan into digging and carrying and building. The traders poured back into the land all the bullion Longstaff had given them. The brickmakers in Macao and the timber makers in Kwangtung—and all those who were concerned with the building of houses or factories or wharves—began to work night and day to satisfy the frantic zeal of the traders to replace that which had been abandoned. Wages rose. Coolies began to be in short supply—The Noble House alone employed three thousand bricklayers, builders and artisans of all kinds—even though each tide brought more workers. These quickly found well-paid work. Tai Ping Shan swelled even more. The foreshore around Glessing’s Point pulsated with energy.
And race day marked the fourteenth day since Struan and May-may had left their house in Happy Valley to move aboard
Resting Cloud.
“You dinna look well, lassie,” Struan said. “Best stay abed today.”
“I think I will,” she said. She had been restless all night and her head and neck and back had begun to ache. “It’s nothing, never mind. You look terriflcal good.”
“Thank you.” Struan was wearing new clothes that he had had made in honor of the meet. Dark green riding coat of the finest, lightest wool. White drill pleated trousers thonged under his half boots, waistcoat of primrose cashmere, green cravat.
May-may eased the ache in her shoulders and Ah Sam settled the pillow more comfortably for her. “It’s just a summer devil. I send for doctor. You go ashore now?”
“Aye. The meet begins in an hour. I think I’ll get our doctor, lass. He’ll—”
“
I will send for doctor. Chinese doctor. And that’s the end of that. Now, dinna forget, twenty taels on number-four horse in fourth race. The astrologer said it was absolute good winner.”
“I will na forget.” Struan patted her cheek. “You rest yoursel’.”
“When I win, I feel fantastical better, heya? Go along, now.”
He tucked her up and saw that fresh tea was brought and an earthenware bottle filled with hot water for her back. Then he went ashore.
The racetrack had been laid out to the west of Glessing’s Point and was mobbed with people. Part of the foreshore, near the post that marked both the starting and finishing lines, had been cordoned off for Europeans against the hordes of curious Chinese who swarmed around. Tents had been set up here and there. A paddock and betting stands had been constructed. Flags on bamboo poles marked the oval track.
The betting was heavy, and Henry Hardy Hibbs had the biggest book. “Take yor pick, gents,” he shouted in his sonorous voice, thumping his blackboard upon which he had chalked the odds. “Major Trent, up on the black stallion, Satan, be favorite in the first. Even money. Three to one the field!”
“God rot you, Hibbs,” Glessing said testily, sweating in the heat of the day. “Three to one the field and you’re bound to win. Give me six to one on the gray mare. A guinea!”
Hibbs glanced at the blackboard and whispered hoarsely, “For you, Capt’n, sir, five it is. One guinea it is. On Mary Jane.”
Glessing turned away. He was furious that he was not in Macao and that Culum’s promised letter had not arrived. Oh God above, he thought, frantic with worry, I should have heard from him by this time. What the devil’s the delay? What’s that bugger Horatio doing? Is he hacking at her again?
He walked moodily down to the paddock and saw Struan and Zergeyev together, but Longstaff joined them so he did not stop.
“What’s your choice, Your Highness?” Longstaff was saying jovially.
“The gelding,” Zergeyev replied, leaning on a stick. The excitement and the smell of the horses refreshed him and lessened much of his constant pain. He wished that he could be a rider, but blessed his luck that he had survived the wound. And blessed Struan. He knew that without Struan’s operation he would have died.
“La, Your Highness,” Shevaun said as she strolled up on Jeff Cooper’s arm. She was dressed in shimmering green and shaded by an orange parasol. “Have you a tip for me?” She favored all of them with a smile. Particularly Struan.
“The gelding’s the best horse, but who the best rider is I don’t know, Shevaun,” Zergeyev said.
Shevaun glanced at the big brown horse, its coat sleek and eyes full. “La,” she said with a mischievous twinkle, “Poor horse! If I were a horse and that’d been done to me, I swear I’d never run a foot. For no one! Barbaric!”
They laughed with her.
“Are you betting the gelding, Tai-Pan?”
“I dinna ken,” he said, worried about May-may. “Somehow I favor the filly. But I think I’ll make my final choice when they’re at the starting gate.”
She studied him for an instant, wondering if he was speaking in parables.
“Let’s take a closer look at the filly,” Jeff said, forcing a laugh.
“Why don’t you, Jeff, my dear? I’ll stay here and wait for you.”
“I’ll come along,” Longstaff said, missing Cooper’s flash of irritation. Cooper hesitated, then they walked off together.
Brock lifted his hat politely as he passed Shevaun and Struan and Zergeyev, but did not stop. He was glad that Struan had decided not to jockey one of the horses, for he was not fond of riding himself and his dig at Struan had been involuntary. God curse him, he thought.
“How is your wound, Your Highness?” Shevaun said.
“Fine. I’m almost whole again, thanks to the Tai-Pan.”
“I did nothing,” Struan said, embarrassed by Zergeyev’s praise. He noticed Blore down by the paddock in private conversation with Skinner. I wonder if I gambled correctly on the lad, he thought.
“Modesty becomes you, sir,” Shevaun said to Struan and bobbed a graceful curtsy. “Don’t they say
‘noblesse oblige’?”
Struan marked Zergeyev’s open admiration for the girl. “You’ve a fine ship, Your Highness.” The Russian vessel was four-masted, eight hundred tons burden. Many cannons.
“I’d be honored to have the captain show you over her,” Zergeyev said. “Perhaps we could talk specifics with you. When you’re ready.”